


maybe you and me (could be a possibility)

by abovetheruins



Category: American Idol RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Bachelor Auction, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-27
Updated: 2015-09-27
Packaged: 2018-04-23 16:33:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4883884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abovetheruins/pseuds/abovetheruins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dave offers himself up for auction. The winning bid comes from a surprising source.</p>
            </blockquote>





	maybe you and me (could be a possibility)

**Author's Note:**

> I started this sometime last year and finally got around to finishing it this weekend. I’m kind of blah about the ending, but other than I’m pretty happy with this little (hah!) fic. Hope you guys enjoy!

Dave adjusts the knot of his tie, the blue silk sliding through his fingers like butter, and listens to the quiet hum of voices filtering in from beyond the stage. There are three other similarly dressed men in front of him, waiting patiently for their names to be called, along with five or six trailing behind him. He’s a little warm in the cramped backstage area, can feel sweat beading irritatingly against the back of his neck and on his brow, and a little bored besides. He wishes he’d thought to snag a drink from the bar. He also wonders for the nth time how he let his manager rope him into something like a bachelor auction, of all things.  
  
“It’s for charity, Dave,” she’d said, after handing him a contract which was so chock full of legal mumbo jumbo he wouldn’t have been able to understand half of it even if he’d tried. “You wine and dine some rich socialite for the night and the organization of your choice receives the proceeds, plus you’ll receive an appearance fee just for showing up. Nice and easy. The publicity will be good for your image  _and_  get your name out there. It’s a win-win.”  
  
And okay, it’s not like he or the band are hurting for publicity; even after a somewhat lengthy hiatus the tour to promote his fourth studio album had wrapped up with favorable reviews and a series of sold-out venues, and his latest single had its own spot on the Top 40 Billboard. He wasn’t a household name or plastered across every magazine cover or anything, but he’d never wanted to be. He was happy to just be putting himself and his music out there, and happier still that people actually wanted to hear it.  
  
He’d said yes to the auction simply because he loved charity, and if he had to spend a night sucking up to some wealthy woman with too much time and money on her hands to secure some monetary gain for the organization of his choice, he’d do it with a smile and all the charisma every screaming preteen girl seemed to think he had.  
  
Someone comes out and retrieves the man in front of him – Dave can’t be sure but he  _thinks_  it’s one of the Jonas brothers, and god, Neal is going to give him so much shit for this – to lead him out onto the wings of the stage. Dave hears the roar of the crowd as the man’s name is called, followed by the announcer’s cheery introduction and call of first bid.  
  
He wonders vaguely how much he’ll go for, sparing a moment to be thankful that none of his bandmates or his family members will know about this little stunt until well after the fact, the only condition he’d given his manager before signing the contract. He can only imagine Neal’s or Andy’s (or worse, his  _brother’s_ ) remarks on the subject, or worse yet their behavior if they’d followed him along to the venue (which they would have, just to fuck with him).  
  
“Mr. Cook?” There’s a woman in a nondescript black shirt and jeans at his side, a clipboard in her hands. Dave hadn’t even noticed her approach. “We’re ready for you, if you would follow me?”  
  
“Sure.” He follows along behind her, waiting obediently behind the thick stage curtains. He can see the announcer behind her podium, blonde hair coiffed and styled to perfection, smiling widely as she bangs a gavel three times and says, “Sold! To the young woman at table three!” There’s a round of collective applause as the Jonas brother – Dave doesn’t bother trying to remember which one it actually is – steps off the stage, and the announcer waits for it to die down before addressing the crowd.  
  
“You’re in for a real treat now, ladies and gentlemen. Our next available gentleman is a well-known recording artist, with four albums to his name and a slew of top singles. He’s just returned from a successful nation-wide tour, is thirty-two years old, and loves dogs and crossword puzzles. Please give a warm welcome to bachelor number seven – David Cook!“  
  
Dave pats his hands down the front of his suit jacket, soothing out any wrinkles, and plasters a smile onto his face – seriously, the things he agrees to – before taking to the stage.  
  
A round of applause greats him, most of it polite (though there  _are_  a few enthusiastic wolf whistles from a table of older women to the left). He waves at the crowd, a sea of unfamiliar faces dressed to the nines and sipping champagne from flute glasses, and settles into the designated spot in the center of the stage as the applause dwindles down.  
  
“Let’s get started, ladies and gentlemen! We’ll start the bid at… oh, $500?”  
  
Surprisingly enough, the bids start climbing in steady increments, from $550 to $800 to an enthusiastic $1,000 bid from the wrinkled, white-haired woman in the front row (who catches Dave’s eye and winks saucily; he’s so startled he nearly chokes on his laughter). He lets his mind wander for a bit as the crowd continues, smiling obligingly even though he’s not really paying attention to what’s being said (a skill he’d picked up from countless meetings with record execs and managers and various authority figures over the years). The stage lights are so bright he can’t see much other than the front row and the vague outlines of the other guests at the tables farther back, and so it comes as a surprise when a breathy, obviously  _male_  voice calls out –  
  
“$3,000!”  
  
Dave blinks into the crowd, brows raised as the announcer beams and calls out, “$3,000 from the generous young gentleman in the back! Do I hear $3,100?”  
  
The crowd buzzes back at her, a few women in the front row whispering furiously to each other, but no one comes back with a higher bid.  
  
The announcer calls out, “Going once! Twice! And – sold!” The triumphant bang of the gavel against the podium nearly makes Dave jump.  
  
He’s ushered off the stage before he can even catch a glimpse of his mysterious bidder and herded into the back with the other sold off bachelors to wait. He heads straight for the table of refreshments set up off to the side, mostly because there’s not much else to do until the auction is over and partly because some liquid encouragement would be appreciated.  
  
He can’t help but wonder who his mysterious bidder is, and honestly he’s still a little shocked that it had wound up being a man. When he’d signed up for this thing it had seemed like a given that he’d be auctioned off to a woman. It wasn’t that he had a preference one way or the other; a man bidding on him just hadn’t even crossed his mind.  
  
It certainly took some balls, he thinks, recalling the buzz of the crowd after the call of that last surprising bid. He has a feeling the amount (large as it had been; seriously, three grand for a date with  _him_?) wasn’t what had gotten the crowd so worked up.  
  
He wonders if this was the kind of publicity his manager had in mind when she’d signed him up for the auction. He kind of wishes he could see her face once she got the news.  
  
  
  
The same girl who had led him to the stage earlier finds him again half an hour later. The last bachelor had been sold off just a few moments ago, so Cook supposes it’s time to get this show on the road.  
  
He follows her out onto the main floor, winding between tables and other bachelors who have already been led to their buyers. She leads him over to one of the tables toward the back, where two women and a young man are sitting, chatting amicably.  
  
As soon as they notice Dave’s approach, all three of their heads swivel in his direction. He barely withholds a laugh at the comical scene, the women doing nothing to hide their appraisal of him and the man (his bidder?) trying to disappear behind his glass of water even while he sneaks a quick peek at Dave.  
  
“Here you are,” his escort chirps, addressing the table of three. “Feel free to hang out in the banquet hall until for a while. Mr. Archuleta? You can settle the check before you leave.”  
  
Dave watches as the young man’s gaze swings somewhat guiltily away from him and to the woman. “Y-yes, of course!” he says, Dave instantly recognizing the breathy voice that had called out that surprising bid. “I’ll do that.”  
  
“Excellent!” The woman – Janet, judging by her nametag – beams, scribbles something on her clipboard, and disappears into the crowd.  
  
One of the women – dark-haired, wearing a sleeveless dress that shows off the swirl of tattoos along her arm – wastes little time in gesturing him into a seat, her “Sit, sit!” laced with hints of an accent.  
  
“Carly,” she says, offering her hand as he settles at the table. “Carly Smithson.”  
  
“Dave Cook,” he answers, grinning and taking her hand.  
  
“This is Brooke White,” Carly says, gesturing to the blonde woman beside her, who offers a sunny smile. “And this,” she continues, her grin turning impish, “is David Archuleta.”  
  
She waves her hand at the young man sitting across from her, and Dave doesn’t miss the way she’s watching him, hoping to gauge his reaction to the fact that his bidder is none other than one of America’s beloved pop idols.  
  
Dave doesn’t bother to hide his surprise; he and David Archuleta,  _American Idol_  alumni and America’s golden boy since he was in his teens, don’t exactly navigate in the same circles, musical or otherwise.  
  
“Hey,” he says, offering his hand. “Nice to meet you, man. I’ve heard a lot about you.” His brother had auditioned for the same season of  _Idol_  that Archuleta had won; he hadn’t made it far, but it had become a weekly event in the Foraker household to tune into the show regardless. Dave remembers filtering most of it out, but a few of Archuleta’s performances had stuck out to him, and he remembers being surprised that such powerful pipes had belonged to such a young kid.  
  
Archuleta smiles, looking pleased and a little surprised. “Nice to meet you, too,” he says, sliding his hand into Dave’s; his palm is warm, and Dave can feel the brush of calluses against his skin before the younger man pulls away. “I’ve heard of you, too. Well, a little? Um.”  
  
Dave laughs, not unkindly. Like he said, they don’t really run in the same circles. “Rock not really your thing?” he asks.  
  
Archuleta hurriedly shakes his head. “Oh, no! Well, not really, I guess? But I’m sure I’d like your music if I heard it!”  
  
“I’ll hold you to that,” Dave says jovially, throwing in a wink for good measure. Archuleta is cute, there’s no doubt about that, and he doesn’t think some casual flirtation would be amiss; they  _are_  set to go out on a date, after all.  
  
Archuleta flushes prettily, though his eyes don’t waver from Dave’s as he smiles. For a moment they’re content to just stare at each other, until Carly coughs and says, “So, about that date… “  
  
Archuleta jumps, glancing a little guiltily at his friends, like he’d forgotten they were even there. “Um, right. Are you ready to go, Dave?”  
  
Dave grins. “Whenever you are. I’m yours for the night, after all.” He doesn’t know why he says it, only that the words fall easily off his tongue. For a second he’s afraid Archuleta will take it the wrong way, think Dave’s teasing him, but instead his eyes widen a bit, a fresh influx of red staining his cheeks, and Dave can’t help but think,  _Shit. This kid is too cute for his own good_.  
  
Archuleta stands. “Okay. I’ll just, um. Go settle the check.” He shoots a laughably unsubtle look at his companions, who smile serenely back at him. “I’ll be right back, so. Yeah.”  
  
Dave has to give him credit; Archuleta only looks back twice before disappearing into the crowd.  
  
Left alone with his date’s companions, Dave takes a moment to glance between the two of them, contemplating. “So, which one of you forced him to bid?”  
  
Carly makes an effort to look offended; Brooke, however, immediately looks guilty.  
  
Dave grins. “I’m guessing it was a joint effort then?”  
  
“It was for his own good,” Carly says, nudging her light-haired companion. “Isn’t that right, Brooke?”  
  
Brooke sighs. “It really was, we promise. We probably could have been less obvious about it, though.”  
  
Dave hums, leaning back in his chair. “Oh, there’s a story here, I can feel it. Care to share?”  
  
It’s Carly that leans towards him, her voice lowered as if she’s afraid Archuleta’s going to sneak up unnoticed and hear the whole sordid tale. “Okay, so. David’s a little… new, to the whole dating scene. He’s afraid of putting himself out there – which is complete rubbish if you ask me, he’s a total catch – so when we heard about this auction and found out David had gotten an invite, we thought it’d be the perfect opportunity for him to get in a little practice.”  
  
Dave has the feeling Archuleta didn’t know anything about this brilliant plan. Brooke’s uneasy silence when he asks proves him right. “So, how did you get him to bid?”  
  
“Carly threatened that she would buy the next bachelor to walk out on stage  _for_  him if he didn’t,” Brooke confesses, tucking a long curl behind her ear. “We didn’t expect him to bid so high, though.”  
  
Carly waves her hand. “I think he got a little overwhelmed there at the end. He gets a little flustered in high pressure situations. It’s for charity, though,  _and_  for David’s peace of mind, so it’s all for a good cause.”  
  
Recalling Archuleta’s – they’re going to have to talk about nicknames before this night goes any further, seriously – face just a few moments ago, Dave’s not so sure about that.  
  
  
  
Brooke and Carly see them off at the door, Brooke with a cheerful, “Have fun!” and Carly with a slightly more impish, “Good luck!”  
  
Archuleta apologizes for their behavior once they’re heading away from the banquet hall, Dave in the passenger seat and the younger man behind the wheel of a stylish black SUV. “I’m so sorry about them, they’re just – they’re kind of excited, I guess?”  
  
Dave laughs. “Yeah, I noticed.” He can’t help but tease the other man a little; he thinks that’s his best chance at getting Archuleta to loosen up and enjoy himself. “Not you, though?”  
  
Archuleta quickly glances at him, his, “Oh, that’s not what I meant – “ hasty and sincere, like he thinks he’s offended Dave somehow and is eager to reassure him.  
  
“I’m just teasing,” Dave says, his grin turning soft, and Archuleta makes an  _oh_  sound, his lips curling into a smile that sort of wobbles at the edges, like he’s not quite sure what to make of Dave.  
  
They drive in semi-awkward silence for about ten minutes before Dave speaks up again. “So,” he starts, “how do you feel about Archie?”  
  
Archuleta glances at him. “Um, what?”  
  
“Archie. You know, Archuleta? Archie? It’s a nickname. I just figured, you know.” He gestures between the two of them. “Two Davids and all that. Might cut down on confusion. If you’re okay with that, that is.”  
  
Archuleta blinks. “Oh,” he says. “Uh. Sure?”  
  
“Excellent.” Dave shoots him a toothy grin. Now they’re getting somewhere. “So, tell me, Archie. Where are we off to this fine evening?”  
  
“Oh, uh.” There’s something a little off about Archie’s expression, like he’s not entirely happy but he’s trying pretty damn hard to hide it. “It’s a restaurant my publicist suggested. It’s um, in the city?  _La Luna_?”  
  
Dave arches a brow. “As in the most expensive restaurant in town?” Not to mention the one with the most paparazzi camped outside on a regular basis.  
  
Archie shrugs his shoulders helplessly, grimacing like he knows exactly what Dave isn’t saying. “I know, I tried to get her to choose somewhere less… well, public, but.”  
  
“Hey, I understand. Any excuse to generate publicity, right?” It’s the reason Dave’s manager had agreed to the charity auction in the first place, and it’s an occupational hazard. Still, Archie doesn’t look thrilled about it; in fact, he’s starting to look a little green around the edges, his fingers clenched a little too tightly around the steering wheel.  
  
And then Dave remembers what Carly and Brooke had told him, that Archie was new to the dating scene. He’s not entirely sure what that means, but a first date (well, of a sort) was enough to rattle anyone’s nerves. Having the entire thing happening in full view of the public (not to mention the public  _lens_ ) was an added dose of crazy that Dave’s not really looking forward to dealing with himself.  
  
He feels affronted on behalf of the guy. It’s clear Archie doesn’t want to do this, and Dave’s not so thrilled about being watched through a telephoto lens the entire night, either.  
  
A change of plan is definitely in order, he thinks.  
  
“Hey,” he says, waiting until Archie spares him a distracted glance to continue, “there’s a little Mexican restaurant a few blocks from here. I happen to have it on good authority that the food is pretty excellent.” The staff is discreet, too, and wouldn’t make a fuss (or alert the press, as it were) if they showed up.  
  
“Oh, um.” Archie chews on his lower lip for a moment, a nervous gesture, though Dave can tell the idea tempts him. “My publicist… she has everything set up already? And she, um, really wants us to be seen, so.”  
  
“Is that what  _you_  want, though?” Dave asks, and can tell by the guilty look Archie shoots him what his answer will be. “Hey, it’s up to you. We can either go to some posh ritzy restaurant where the paparazzi outnumber the guests ten to one, which I can tell by the look on your face is something you’re really not looking forward to.  _Or_ ,” he adds quickly, steamrolling over any protests Archie might make, “we can go to a hole in the wall with food that we can actually pronounce and not have cameras going off in our faces the entire night.”  
  
Archie slows to a stop at an intersection, and as the car idles he glances at Dave. “Well…” he starts, clearly wavering, and Dave grins.  
  
“Like I said, it’s up to you, but I  _am_  your date, and I for one don’t find the concept of being under a lens all night all that appealing.”  
  
It takes a moment, but eventually Archie’s lips curl into a small smile. “Well,” he repeats, tapping his fingers against the steering wheel. “I can’t disappoint my date, can I? That’d be kind of… rude, wouldn’t it?”  
  
Dave nods seriously. “Oh yeah. Very rude.”  
  
Archie stares at him for a moment, long enough that Dave actually starts to feel himself flush, before the younger man nods, as if to himself, and turns back to the road.  
  
“Which way do we go?”  
  
  
  
The restaurant isn’t crowded, even in the midst of a Friday night. Archie looks a little taken aback by that, but pleased, and Dave gives himself a mental pat on the back, knowing he’d made the right call.  
  
Their hostess seats them in one of the booths in the back, and though it’s obvious she recognizes them, she doesn’t make a fuss about their identities. Dave’s been a regular here ever since he moved to LA, so none of the staff give him a second glance whenever he comes in. The girl  _does_  look a little star struck as she takes Archie’s drink order, though, not that Dave can really blame her.  
  
He grins as Archie relaxes against the seat, flipping through the menu with none of the previous tension he’d carried visible in the set of his shoulders. The dim lights and scarce crowd in the little restaurant are clearly putting him at ease, and Dave congratulates himself once again on a job well done; clearly his idea was a brilliant one.  
  
“So,” he says, once the waitress has dropped their drinks off and gone away to fulfill their food order, “how did you get roped into going to this auction anyway?”  
  
“Oh, um. It was actually my publicist who got the invite. I wasn’t even going to go, but then she told me the money would go to charity and, well.” Archie shakes his head, laughs a little. “And then Brooke and Carly found out about the auction, and they got this idea in their head that I should use it for like, practice? And they made me promise to bring them, so.”  
  
“Three against one, huh?” Dave whistles, low. “Damn. You really had no chance, did you?”  
  
Archie laughs again, shrugging, and Dave finds himself appreciating the light red flush stealing across the pop singer’s cheeks. It looks good on him, and damn if Dave isn’t totally distracted by the laugh lines around Arch’s mouth and eyes (not to mention the  _dimples_ , what the fuck).  
  
“They have my best interests at heart, I think? They’re just… I think they feel like I’m not going to do anything unless they push me into it? Which, who knows, maybe they’re right.”  
  
“Even so, it should be up to you who you date,” Dave says, reaching for the chips and salsa left in the middle of the table. “It should be someone you actually know, for one thing. Someone you like, someone you’re attracted to.” He munches on a tortilla chip smothered in spicy salsa, chewing before continuing with a well-meaning grin. “I mean, not that I’m not flattered that you chose me, but I doubt I was your first choice as potential date material.”  
  
“Oh, um.” Archie ducks his head a little, his eyes deliberately trained on the tabletop. Dave nearly chokes on a mouthful of salt and spice.  
  
 _Or maybe I was?_  he pointedly does  _not_  say, even though Archie’s red face and inability to meet his eyes is practically begging him to. Damn. Well.  
  
“I haven’t… uh.” Archie waves his hand, gesturing between them, “you know, dated anyone. Not like – I mean, there have been girls from church and people my label kind of, um, pushed on me, but nobody I’ve ever really wanted to – “ He trails off helplessly, and Cook feels suddenly, inexplicably protective of this man he barely knows. It’s a strange feeling, to be sure, though not an unpleasant one.  
  
“Hey,” he says gently, tapping Archie’s hand to get him to look up, “there’s nothing wrong with that.”  
  
“It’s not like I haven’t wanted to,” Archie continues, like he feels he needs to explain himself further. “I just – it’s not easy to meet people when I’m busy all the time, and I hate having all of these, like, Disney stars and singers and actresses pushed on me, because there’s always this kind of – this level of expectation?”  
  
“Hey, I get it.” His manager’s tried to pull that stunt more than once, though after the first dozen times Dave had refused she’d finally stopped trying.  
  
“It’s just – it’s hard to meet someone that’s… real, I guess. If that makes sense.”  
  
“It does.” Dave tilts his head, rests his chin on his hand, and grins. “But hey, that’s what I’m here for, right? Practice?”  
  
Archie looks at him, and in the soft circle of illumination provided by the lamp above their booth, his smooth, young face looks particularly striking. Dave’s grin fades as he takes in the other man’s bright hazel eyes, his dimpled cheeks, the full bow of his lips, and he finds himself entertaining thoughts that he probably shouldn’t, like how nice it would be to do this again, spend time with Archie again, to listen to him laugh and watch him flail as he tries to find the right words, to watch him duck his head when something Dave says embarrasses him or makes him blush.  
  
“That makes it sound like I’m using you or something,” Archie says, soft.  
  
Dave shakes his head. “I don’t see it that way,” he says, lips curling into a smile. “I’m actually kind of flattered that you chose me out of all of those – “ He pitches his voice higher in imitation of the coiffed and exuberant auctioneer, “ – eligible bachelors.”  
  
Archie laughs, loud enough that some of the people at the other tables turn to look at them. He claps a hand over his mouth, his eyes bright and scrunched at the corners, and Dave feels a burst of affection rush through him at the sight.  
  
 _Christ, that’s a pretty picture_ , he thinks, taking in the curve of Archie’s smile as his chuckles die down and he removes his hand. Happiness is definitely a good look on David Archuleta, and Dave makes a mental note to do all he can to bring out more of those smiles before the night is over.  
  
“I actually, um. I actually wanted to bid on you before you came out on stage,” Archie says. It’s the boldest thing Dave’s heard from him all night, and even though his cheeks  _are_  a little red, he doesn’t flee from Dave’s gaze.  
  
Dave’s brows shoot up into his hairline. He’d been under the impression that Archie’s bid had been an impulsive one. “Oh?”  
  
“Yeah, um. When the auctioneer mentioned you were a singer, I – well, I wanted to meet you then.”  
  
“There were other singers though,” Dave says. He’s sure of that.  
  
Something changes in Archie’s gaze. His eyes dart to the table and then back up at Dave, and fuck, that gaze filtered through the fall of Archie’s dark lashes is damn near lethal.  
  
“I – I made up my mind when you came out,” he says, and oh.  _Oh_.  
  
“Oh,” Dave breathes. Well then.  
  
Archie clears his throat, a little more flustered now. “Yeah. Is that – is that okay?”  
  
Dave almost laughs – almost – because it seems like such a very  _Archie_  thing to do, to ask if it’s okay that he’s attracted to Dave.  
  
Dave reaches across the table to touch his fingers, lightly, to the back of Archie’s hand. “Hey, that’s more than okay,” he says, tilting his head. He leans back, splaying his arms over the back of the booth, and adds, “The feeling’s mutual, you know,” because hey, honesty’s the best policy, right?  
  
Archie doesn’t look startled by the admission. If anything, he looks  _pleased_. “Really?”  
  
Dave allows their gazes to catch, his lips curling into a slightly rakish grin. “Really, Arch,” he says, and touches the toe of his shoe to Archie’s beneath the table.  
  
Archie smiles, a slow lift of his full lips that has Dave’s blood in a slow boil. The waitress returns with their orders before the younger man can reply, and they spend a few moments staring at one another, the atmosphere rife with tension, with  _possibility_ , before they tuck into their food.  
  
Beneath the table, though neither of them acknowledge it, their ankles brush and, eventually, twine together.  
  
  
  
Archie’s phone lights up with an incoming call while they’re deep in conversation, Dave in the midst of telling Archie about his first Indy album and Archie listening with rapt attention, interjecting every now and again to ask questions.  
  
Archie takes a quick glance at the glowing screen and tucks his cell into his pocket without further ado, shaking his head when Dave asks if it was important.  
  
“It’s my publicist,” Archie explains, shrugging his shoulders and grinning a little wryly. “She’s probably not very happy with me at the moment.”  
  
Dave winces in sympathy. His manager’s probably not too thrilled with him, either. “I’ll gladly take the blame for making you ditch her plans, Arch.”  
  
“Hey, no, it’s fine. Really.” A slow, beatific smile curls Archie’s lips, and Dave suppresses the urge to reach across the table and curl his hands around it. “I’m glad we came here instead. I’m having fun.”  
  
Dave grins. “Even though I’ve been spending the past half hour talking about nothing but myself?” His tone is teasing, playful, but Archie nods seriously.  
  
“I like hearing you talk about yourself,” he says, and damn if such a bold statement doesn’t make Dave blush. “You’re really, um – “  
  
“Charismatic?” Dave offers, covering his reaction. “Handsome? Charming? Absolutely fascinating?”  
  
Archie laughs. “All of the above,” he says, returning Dave’s teasing grin, and Dave knocks their knees together beneath the table.  
  
 _Little shit_ , he thinks fondly, and, before he can stop himself, “I think you’ve nailed the practice round here, Arch.”  
  
Archie tilts his head, amused. “Have I?”  
  
“Oh, definitely. I’m feeling pretty successfully wined and dined right now. I’d give you full marks all across the board.”  
  
“Before we even get to the goodnight kiss?” Archie asks, faux surprised. “Wow, Dave. I didn’t think it’d be this easy.”  
  
Dave gapes, totally can’t help it. “You’ve been holding out on me,” he says, impressed. The longer they’ve spent in each other’s company, the more at ease with himself Archie has become, allowing more of himself to shine through, and Dave’s fascinated by the change. Arch is witty and funny in a way that makes it clear he’s not actually trying, and can apparently be downright  _sassy_  when the mood strikes him. It’s definitely unexpected, but Dave can’t deny that he finds it appealing.  
  
Archie grins at him. “Maybe a little? Gotta leave you wanting more, right?”  
  
Dave’s teasing grin softens around the edges, shifts into something a little darker. “You’ve definitely succeeded there, Arch,” he says, quiet, and watches as Archie’s own grin fades away, replaced by a look that Dave can’t quite place, a little startled but pleased at the same time. Dave continues before he can second guess himself, hoping that he’s not the only one who wants to see where this flirtation could lead them. “Can I see you again?” he asks, throwing in a light, “No charge next time,” to hide his sudden influx of nerves, the clamminess of his palms. He marvels at the sensations even as he anxiously awaits Archie’s response – it’s been a while since he’s felt this, this rush of anxiety mixed with cautious hope.  
  
He needn’t have worried, it seems. Archie’s soft smile tells him as much. “Yeah, Dave. I’d like that.”  
  
  
  
Archie’s publicist calls seven times in the next three hours. Apparently she’s contacted Brooke and Carly too in an effort to locate him, and they send a handful of texts and two voicemails between them, all varying shades of  _Way to go, Archie!_  and  _I knew you had it in you!_  Andrew and Neal have apparently figured out where Dave had disappeared to tonight (Dave blames his manager, who had probably heard about his little stunt and sought adequate revenge) and there are messages filled with the appropriate levels of ribbing and teasing in his inbox.  
  
Dave could care less about any of it, though, and he has a feeling Arch feels the same way, if the way he’s gripping Dave’s lapels is anything to go by.  
  
They have another date set for tomorrow night, this time at a piano bar that Archie’s been wanting to go to, and he’s looking forward to it.  
  
Almost as much as he’s looking forward to another goodnight kiss like this one, Archie’s lips soft and sure against his own, his fingers curled in Dave’s collar, warm against the skin of his throat.  
  
But that’s a possibility for tomorrow, so Dave curls his hands around Archie’s cheeks, thumbs brushing against where their mouths are joined, and enjoys the present.


End file.
